Thursday, January 12, 2012

Bile

Her knees hugged either side of the toilet, her elbow resting on the seat as she held her forehead in her hand. Her mouth watered in that sickly, stale sort of way as she fought the urge to hold it back.
Hot, wet bile roiled it's way up her throat, pouring out of her mouth and leaking through her nostrils mercilessly. Her eyes watered at the acidic vomit that now had her body in convulsions, how was there always more? 

Two, three, four more times her body clenched, flexed and released of it's own accord: her body was no longer her own. Each time that burning wet stew filled up the clean, porcelain bowl; by now the stench was wafting up each time she hurled or moved, adding insult to injury. 

   Shaking, she reached for the glass on top of the bathroom counter. She lifted it to her lips, lightly took a sip, and swirled it around her mouth collecting various half-digested food particles before spitting it out again, like some fine wine, she thought wryly. Still shaking, she unrolled a small amount of toilet paper, wiped her mouth, blew her nose—gingerly. She looked at her handiwork: small yellowed chunks of food, a reddish, sweet-potato-colored liquid mixed with what looked like saliva, and a bit of blood from her nose. Slowly shaking her head from side to side, half in bemusement, half in an attempt to come back down to the reality of the cold bathroom floor, she grabbed the bathroom counter, lifted herself up, flushed the toilet, and walked out the door.